Outside the storm pounded the streets with an intensity that bordered on hatred. Johnny stood on the steps of the crumbling moss-splotched cathedral, the rain washing the blood and grey matter from his hands and jacket. Down in the rain-drenched streets a woman stared back at him, surrounded by the bodies of nearly a dozen men. Many looked as if they’d been torn apart by animals and in the shadows huge lupine shadows lurked. Yellow eyes stared out at him from the gloom, prowled back and forth, growling and flashing terrible teeth.

The woman glared at him. Her rain-drenched hair nearly covered her dark eyes as they sized him up. Her features were Native American, attractive but harsh, and her body covered in tattoos. Around her left hand a globe of crimson energy crackled. But it was the revolver in her right hand that most concerned him. It was pointed squarely at his chest.

Johnny tossed the candlestick down the stone steps. It rattled and clanged loudly as it bounced into the street. He half-heartedly raised his hands but could tell when her body relaxed a bit that she had assessed the situation correctly. Immediately she began scanning the streets around her, lowering the pistol, much to Johnny’s relief. “I didn’t need your help. You shouldn’t have gotten involved.”

“I’m just crazy like that.” He said, lightning briefly illuminating his features. They had to speak loudly over the pounding rain.

She was only half paying attention to him, distracted, and desperately searching her surroundings. “Crazy?”

“Looney Toons. I just killed a man because an angel told me too.”

That got her attention. A half-hopeful look flitted across her face. The wolf shadows were getting more animated. They sensed something. Johnny watched them curiously. She saw him staring at them. “You can see them? My pack?”

Johnny glanced down and slowly nodded. In the coming days Johnny would learn that he could see many things others couldn’t. She took a few steps towards him. In a series of lightning flashes he watched the rivulets run down her cleavage and into her rain-soaked tee. “I’m looking for a coyote.” She said confidentially, “My spirit guides told me I’d meet one here. I know that sounds strange but please hear me. I’m supposed to take it with me to Jerusalem. We don’t have much time. There’s something coming for me. These men…” she motioned to the ruined bodies littering the street, “were just Its servants.”

“A spirit told you to find a coyote and bring it to Jerusalem." he repeated impassively. " Believe it or not that’s not the weirdest thing I’ve heard tonight.” Johnny’d always had a fascination with coyotes. Or rather they had one with him. One of his earliest memories was playing in the street alone when he came face to face with one of the huge hairy canines. What a coyote was doing on the streets of Cleveland Johnny didn’t know. He just looked up and there it was, big, hairy, and staring face to face with shrewd humanlike eyes. It was a vulnerable moment and Johnny always figured the memory was muddled – one of those memories from childhood that don’t make any sense. Because it smiled at him. And then just loped away.

From that time forward coyotes reoccurred in his life over an over. Toys, cartoons, games. His gang. And the dreams. SO many dreams. He’d even adopted the moniker himself when he was forced to change his name. Johnny C. Johnny Coyote.

“I… know that doesn’t make any sense.” She said hesitantly.

“Actually… it does.” Johnny turned around to show the back of his jacket. The cartoon coyote on a stylized bike. The rockers that read ~The Coyotes, Cleveland OH~. “Will this do?”

She looked confused, then relieved, then confused again. “The Coyotes? Isn’t that kind of a dumb name for a gang?” Before he could respond, there was a wistful howling from the shadows. In the distance sirens wailed. She gasped, “It’s coming. We have to go.”